


Don’t Wanna be An American Idiot

by Jehan_Grantaire_Fusion



Series: Fics inspired by my taste in music [10]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Amanda Grayson is alive and well, BAMF Uhura, Based on a song, Blood and Gore, Bones is So Done, Canon Era, Chekov is a fluffball, Christine Chapel is a Disaster Lesbian, F/F, I love her, Irresponsible use of a slushy machine, Jaylah is a cat, Loads of it, Loads of that too, M/M, References to Illness, Scotty/Chapel has now become my brotp for some godforsaken reason, Slow Burn, So here we are, Sulu has a sword, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Uhura has cornrows for some reason, Well - Freeform, What Was I Thinking?, Whump, Why Did I Write This?, and if it goes the way u think it will?, are psychic, but that’s a detail, largely because its not going the way I thought it was, many songs, teen!everyone, then u my friend, this is gonna be a wild ride, thought you might want to know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehan_Grantaire_Fusion/pseuds/Jehan_Grantaire_Fusion
Summary: Post-apocalyptic au. The entirety of Planet Earth is a wasteland, devastated by a deadly virus overrun with dangerous experiments escaped from government labs. Good news is, nearly everyone who survived was rescued and rehomed by the federation!Bad news? The key word there is ‘nearly’.Jim Kirk is on a mission: get to Florida with all his friends, make contact with Starfleet, and don’t get eaten by the mutant buffalo-tigers or murdered by the opportunistic pig-men. Easy-peasy, right?Inspired by the whole American Idiot album by Green Day. Not based on the Broadway show.





	1. In the bathroom of the 7-11

**Author's Note:**

> Two things!
> 
> 1\. I have never been to 7-11 in America. My description of it is based on my rather hazy memories of European 7-11s. 
> 
> 2\. The ages of the main characters are as follows:
> 
> Jim-17  
> Spock-18  
> Bones-19  
> Uhura-16  
> Chapel-15  
> Scotty-17  
> Sulu-15  
> Chekov-12
> 
> Because of reasons.
> 
> Now that’s out of the way, enjoy!

It’s the end of the world, but not the end of Jim Kirk.

He’s the only survivor in his family. The past few weeks have been spent vomiting blood and hallucinating, the more memorable symptoms of the deadly virus. When he finally frees himself from the delirium, the house is silent.

He does not cry when he sees his stepdad’s cold body, slumped in the garage in a pool of blood.

He does not cry when he sees his mother lying face-down in the kitchen with flies in her hair.

He does cry when he sees his big brother staring up at the living room ceiling with unseeing eyes.

Jim knows he has to get out of the house, away from the putrid stink of his family members and the gnawing sensation that reminds him of how he, he survived. He survived and Sam is dead and Mom is dead and even his horrible stepdad is dead and he made it out. It’s unfair, a tiny part of his mind complains.

He stomps it out.

He wanders from house to house, the beautiful warm weather and prevalent wind carrying the scent that tells him that the inhabitants of Riverside, Iowa died a good while ago. He begins to pant, desperate. 

Still, everyone’s gone. So the path his feet retrace take him to 7-11.

Why 7-11? Nobody would be there to keep the lights on and the food fresh (or as fresh as to be expected in a 7-11) and the slushy machine turning. But still his feet take him closer to the dull granite building.

Hallelujah, he thinks. The lights are on!

The door is unlocked. He steps inside.

Here, it’s as if the world never ended - the same smell of hot dogs and cheap booze permeates the air, the same racks of devastatingly cheap candy and chips, the same fluorescent lighting. The slushy machine churns begins the counter. 

He takes a tentative step forward. “Hello?”

“Don’t take another step.” The command comes from behind him. He turns.

A skinny girl, a few years younger than him, is pointing a gun at him. Her hair is pulled into cornrows and her hoodie has blood on it. She looks kinda familiar - a memory of after-school McDonalds arises.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Wait a second. Kirk?”

He shrugs, half-smiling. “Unfortunately.”

She snorts, and he remembers her - Uhura, first name unknown. Thankfully, she points the gun at the floor and turns to call behind her, “It’s okay, Chrissy! You can come out!”

Another girl creeps out from behind the counter, all arms and legs and blue eyes. She waves awkwardly at Kirk.

Uhura clears her throat. “So, I see you survived.”

He nods and does not think of Sam. “Yeah. You’re the first live people I’ve found so far.”

Chrissy shoves her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I was having a sleepover with Nyota when all this happened.” She bows her head. “My whole family died while I was away.”

Nyota - he knows her name now, yay - puts her hand on Chrissy’s arm. “We came here hoping we’d find someone.”

“Well,” he says, “you found me.”

They don’t speak or really look at each other for a good few minutes, shuffling about and occasionally snacking on any item of food that looks partially edible. Well, Uhura snacks - Jim and Christine gorge themselves on anything that isn’t actively inedible. 

When they’ve finally sated their appetites, Uhura looks out the window at the setting sun. “What now?” She wonders.

Jim follows her gaze. “We oughta see who else is still alive. Maybe we can find some adults or something?”

She nods. “Good idea.”

The first three houses contain nothing but gently decaying families. A small tabby cat races out of a fourth when Christine picks the lock (Jim makes a mental note to ask her to teach him how to do that), and when they call they receive no answer.

The fifth house is a little more promising. 

Jim pushes the door open and is immediately greeted by a large sword. “Woah.”

At the other end of the sword is a fairly shaky-looking Japanese-American kid. For some reason, he’s shirtless and wearing a pair of fluorescence yellow joggers. He narrows his dark eyes at the three. “You come to rob me?”

Jim shakes his head, trying not to be mesmerised by the aforementioned large sword. “We...uh, do you mind putting the sword down?”

“No.”

“Okay then. No, we were just trying to find out who’s still alive.”

The sword tip wavers a bit - wether it’s because it’s massive and probably very heavy or because the kid’s eyes are suddenly wet is unclear. “I’m the only one here.”

Jim nods grimly, then turns on a smile. “Hey, if you wanna put that sword down, you can come with us. I think Christine’s got half a slushy left, right?”

She nods, fishing it out of the pocket of her jacket. Kirk makes another mental note to ask her how she did that. He turns back to the kid. “My name’s Jim, by the way. Jim Kirk.”

A moment of indecision, then the tip of the sword drops. “Hikaru Sulu. And I’m keeping the sword.”

The next few houses are much like the first three. Uhura breaks the windows, saying it’s “so any animals inside can get out.” It also seems to be a way of venting frustration, but Jim lets her.

Suddenly, a sharp voice rings out over the tinkle of smashed glass.“What are you doing?” 

They whip round, and are greeted by a young Vulcan, staring at them with the closest thing a Vulcan has to confusion. He raises a pointed eyebrow. 

For some reason, Jim’s heart rate picks up at the sight of him. “Uhhh...”

“Hello, Spock,” Uhura calls. “Animals need to leave the houses, and if they’re frightened they won’t come near us.”

Spock considers this for a moment, then nods sharply. “A logical course of action.”

Jim looks between the two. “You two know each other?”

“We dated.” Uhura remarks. “Very briefly.”

“Nyota and I discovered that our sexualities were...incompatible,” Spock says, and Jim was unaware that bowl cuts and pointy ears and big brown eyes could be so...dreamy.

Fuck. He’ll think about this later.

“Hikaru?” Calls a very tiny, wobbly voice with an accent Jim can’t quite place. A fluffy head pokes out from behind a trash can. “Is zhat you?”

Sulu gives him a watery smile. “Hey, Chekov!”

The kid runs out and throws his arms around the bigger boy’s waist. He looks about ten, and has very obviously been crying recently. “Hikaru, I vas so scared! My mama...she...” his little face crumples. 

Sulu picks him up and holds him on his hip. “I sometimes babysit him,” he explains to his bemused companions, before going to comfort Chekov.

Jim clears his throat awkwardly. “Okay, let’s keep checking houses for survivors.”

The sheer lack of people living is both astounding and depressing. The whole neighbourhood is dead. Jim suddenly thinks of his best friend, Bones. He was on the other side of town last time Jim heard from him - was he still alive?

He receives his answer an hour later, when the now-six of them stop for a breather. The roar of a motorcycle precedes his arrival.

Bones zooms round the corner and screeches to a stop, throwing off his helmet as he runs over to the posse. “Jim!”

“Bones!” He throws his arms around his childhood friend and buried his face in the comforting smell of his leather jacket. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”

By the time everyone has been introduced to each other and Bones is fully reassured that Jim is largely intact, it’s dark except for the automatic street lights. Nobody suggests breaking into one of the houses and spending the night there. Jim makes a decision. “Let’s go back to the 7-11. We can clear out a space in the back, or something.”

The trek back is uneventful except for a raccoon, who stares blankly at them for a moment and then turns back to her own affairs. They wander into the parking lot when Christine suddenly stops. “Wait a second. Wasn’t the sign switched off when we left?”

Uhura narrows her eyes. “It was.”

The sign glows in the fog. When did it get foggy?

“It’s probably another survivor,” Jim insists. “Let’s go in, but be careful. Uhura, you take point.”

She hefts her gun and nods sharply. 

They creep in, nerves tense. It could be nothing. It could be something.

Crash!

They all jump, and Uhura whips round and points her gun. “Who’s there?!”

“Meow.”

A skinny black and white cat stares up at them, unconcerned, beside a can of energy drink she had knocked over.

“Wuzzat? Jaylah?” A mop of ginger-blond hair thrusts itself up from behind the counter. It swivels, and a face appears. The eyes widen. “Uhhh...”

“Who are you?” Uhura barks, hefting her weapon. 

A pair of hands shoot in the air above the head. “Montgomery Scott! Call me Scotty!” He yelps. 

Jim motions for Uhura to put the gun down, and frowns at the kid with the prominent Scottish accent. “You alone?” He asks.

The rest of Montgomery Scott appears from behind the counter as he stands, clad in too-big bloodstained clothes. “Aye,” he says, glancing worriedly at the gun. “No-one...well, you lot are the first livin’ folks I’ve seen a’ day.”

The cat jumps up to the counter, interrupting proceedings by meowing loudly, and then jumps on Scotty’s shoulders and meows again. He scratches her ears affectionately. “Well, only human folks I’ve seen.” He looks back at the seven companions, who are currently slightly distracted by the cat. “Any o’ youse want hot dogs? I got the grill workin’.”

As they sit around the 7-11, eating slightly burnt hot dogs (or some potato chips if you’re Spock) and drinking stale coffee, Jim sighs and leans his head on Bones’ shoulder. “You see anyone alive on your way here?”

Bones shakes his head.

Jim surveys the eight of them, not counting the cat. “Eight out of...what, three thousand? Jesus fuck.”

He wants three things right now. One, keep every one of these people alive. Two, find some kind of authority so they can figure out what the fuck is going on. Three...

“Hey, Spock! Can you pass me the ketchup?”


	2. The suburban prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are very alone here, but there’s a tiny spark of good news: we might be able to make a home run.
> 
> Might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this, y’all. I did research for it!

Jim wakes up with his face stuck to the counter and a cat approximately half an inch from his face. Jaylah meows, the scent of tuna greeting his freshly-awoken nostrils. Disgusted, he sits up and takes a moment to get his bearings.

Bones is sat in a swivel-chair in the back office, arms folded across his chest, fast asleep. Uhura and Chapel have arranged themselves protectively around each other and a slumbering Chekov. Uhura, for reasons that Jim doesn’t understand but suspects would scare him, still has her gun like, two inches away.

Sulu is nearby, having made a bed consisting of a 7-11 employee jacket spread over a bunch of crisp packets. The sword peeks out from underneath.  
Scotty is flat on the floor with his head on a bag of marshmallows, snoring gently.

Spock is...texting. Did he sleep? Don’t Vulcans have some sort of meditation thing they do instead of sleep, or is that Andorians? Jim can’t quite remember.

Spock looks up. “Jim. You are awake.”

Jim yawns. “Unfortunately. Any news on, like, other people being alive, or anything?”

Spock’s eyebrows do a thing where they sorta tense up a little bit. “I have been attempting to reach my parents. They were in D.C. before the virus hit.”

Jim leans forward, interested. “Okay, so what happened?”

Spock’s eyebrows tense further. “It would be best to wait for the others to awaken. The news is...unfortunate.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound very promising.”

It takes the better part of an hour for everyone to wake up, and in the meantime Jim has discovered a refreshing yet controversial beverage; Scotty has managed to fix the coffee machine, but for reasons unknown the coffee ends up cold. What other course of action, according to Sulu at least, than to mix it with the remnants of slushy. Christine loves it, Bones threatens to kill all of them, and everyone else has a reaction somewhere in between. Once they manage to get Chekov to stop vibrating, Spock calls them all to order.

“I have received information from my mother on the current circumstances.” He taps on his phone screen. “After a high-security laboratory was broken into, a virus has infected the entire planet. In an effort to contain the disease, all uninfected cities were evacuated and are currently awaiting rehoming on other Federation planets.”

Sulu raises his hand. “How come it was only the uninfected cities? What about us?”

Spock does not look up from his phone as he replies. “The virus was genetically engineered to be completely fatal, and extremely contagious. According to the information the Federation has, any city that was infected by the virus was completely destroyed.”

“But tha’ can’t be right,” Scotty interjects. “We’re here! So a’ the cities infected must ha’ at least a few survivors.”

Spock tenses his eyebrows at him. “The Federation has no way of knowing that. It would be illogical to scout out every city on the planet in hopes of finding a few survivors.”

Chekov raises his hand. “Did your mama say how many people surwiwed zhe infection?” He asks.

The eyebrows tense further. “The last estimation was that 250,000 humans and 59,000 members of other species residing in Earth at the time of infection were safely evacuated. All others were either dead or infected.”

The only sound was that of the still-churning slushy machine while everyone processed that. Over nine billion people, dead. Jim is the first one to speak.

“Does your mom know you’re alive?”

Spock shakes his head. “She wrote that she knew there was little chance I survived the infection, and that the messages were a sort of...goodbye.”

Bones frowns. “Well, can you contact her? Let her know we’re alive?”

“The satellites and cellphone companies that would allow me to contact my mother - or, indeed, anyone - seem to be nonfunctional at this time. I have no signal, nor do I seem able to acquire one.”

“So, we’re stranded,” says Kirk.

Spock looks at him with hot chocolate eyes and this is the worst possible time to be thinking about his eyes, Kirk. “That appears to be the case.”

Chekov curls up into a ball and buries his face in his knees.

 

They all sort of drift around for a while, grazing on snacks and the seemingly eternal slushy machine and staring into space because none of them can believe that they are alive and abandoned.

Scotty, for his part, is thinking. He’s good at that. Thinking and fixing things.

Right now, he’s thinking about satellites. Where do you find satellites? Space. Where’s ground control? NASA. Where’s NASA?

He sits up. “Ah‘ve got an idea.”

Kirk turns. “Well, let’s hear it. Gotta be better than eating stale Chips Ahoy.”

Everyone turns to look at Scotty, who is suddenly self-conscious. Luckily, Jaylah is right next to him, so he pulls her into his lap and lets her purring give him the courage to continue with the honestly bonkers idea.

“So, we cannae contact Starfleet wi’out the satellites, aye? But, I’m thinkin’ that if we got the satellites workin’ again, we could let ‘em know we’re alive.”

Uhura looks sceptical. “Ok, but how do we get the satellites working again?”

Scotty spreads his arms and grins. “Simple! We go tae Houston!” He plows on, excited now. “Even if we cannae make contact with th’ existing satellites, I heard they were makin’ one t’ launch in a few weeks. We could use that one!”

Jim’s friend - Leonard? The hot one, anyhow - raises an eyebrow at him. “And how do you suppose we get there? We’re over a thousand miles away!”

Scotty’s mouth seems to dry up and freeze when confronted by Leonard’s stare, but Kirk saves his arse by jumping in. “Hey, I kinda know how to drive! We could drive there!”

Leonard gives him a fondly exasperated look. “Jim, you’ve taken what, three lessons? And they all ended badly.”

Spock joins in. “It is unlikely the roads will be occupied in light of current events. At an average speed of ninety miles per hour, we could expect to arrive in eleven point two three three hours.”

Jim flashes a million-dollar grin. “That’s, like, no time at all! We could be there by tomorrow!” He turns to Scotty. “Fantastic work, Mr. Scott.”

 

It’s a simple matter to find the nearest camper van. Christine easily jimmies the lock and hotwires the engine into life. Kirk really needs to ask her how she does these things.

Everyone’s in great spirits now, laughing and joking together as they load up the car with snacks and, ‘for some godforsaken reason’ to quote Bones, the slushy machine. Sulu may or may not be in a relationship with that thing - probably not, since the sword might get jealous.

Jim hugs Bones as they watch Chekov neatly arrange the snacks by weight. “Isn’t this great, Bones? We’re gonna make it!”

 

If only things were that simple.


	3. Don’t know where it goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effectively, shit gets fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea how to make a bomb, nor have I ever held a gun, so if that’s inaccurate I’m sorry. I don’t wanna get put on a watch list, okay? *waves to the FBI agent in my camera*

* * *

The first thirty miles went really well, in Jim’s opinion. The roads were wide and very empty, Jim could drive as fast as he liked, and Sulu read the map and told him where to turn. It was going great!

Unfortunately, to quote Robert Burns, ‘the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agly.’

Bones suddenly swears violently. “What the fuck is that!?”

In the road ahead of them is something that looks a bit like a tiger, a bit like a buffalo, and is about the size of an elephant. It’s also charging towards them.

Jim swerves violently to avoid it, skidding off the road. He can hear the animal roar, far too close for comfort.

He steps on the gas, and they speed into the prairie, the thing thudding behind them.

Spock opens the passenger window and hangs out, trying to get a proper look at the animal. “It is gaining on us, Kirk,” he says, a note of urgency clouding his tone.

“What the fuck is it?” Jim yells, trying to mash the gas pedal harder against the floor.

“I do not know.”

The sharp turn has thrown the other passengers across the van, and to add to the chaos Jaylah is now meowing as loudly as she possibly can.

Uhura is the first to recover. Standing up, she opens the sunroof and lifts her gun. “Someone give me a boost!”

Sulu immediately scrambles to boost her up. The wind nearly knocks her backwards, but she recovers. The animal is less than two hundred yards away. She is the best shot in the county, if competitions are anything to go by. Let’s hope that counts for something.

Lift. Aim. Shoot.

The animal roars in irritation, but still charges.

Lift. Aim. Shoot.

It stumbles, slows. She hit it in the eye. Not bad, considering she was aiming for the feet.

Kirk swerves again, making her lose her balance and slam her stomach against the opening of the sunroof. Disoriented, she clings to the roof.

She can’t kill that thing - it’s so big and her gun is so small. Even if she hits it in the eyes again, she’ll never kill it.

She ducks down. “I can’t kill it. It’s way too big. You’re gonna have to outdrive it.”

Jim swears. “This goddamn machine is going as fast as it can!”

Jaylah, unhelpfully, yowls.

Christine and Scotty, unheeded by their crewmates, have been conferring on the floor.

The boy stands up now. “Here, try this!” He says, holding up a ball of metal,wires, and cloth. “‘Tis a shite job, but we dinnae ha’ the time t’do better!”

Uhura picks it gingerly from Scotty’s hand. “What do I do with this?”

Christine stands as well. “Throw it at the thing!” Uhura stands back up and looks at the animal. It’s still gaining, so close she can almost smell it.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she mutters, and throws.

Christine drags her down just in time to avoid getting her face blown off.

Boom!

The blast knocks the van sideways, shreds the tires, sets the (thankfully rain-soaked) corn on fire, and emphatically destroys the animal.

When Kirk can hear something other than the ringing in his ears, he sits up.

“Everyone okay?”

Sulu groans. “That’s definitely gonna bruise.”

Scotty jerks upright. “Tha’ actually worked!”

Christine props herself up and holds up her hand. “Gimme five.”

Spock gingerly prods his arm. “Perhaps, Miss Chapel and Mr. Scott, you would be so kind as to forewarn us the next time you feel like constructing a bomb.”

Bones is softly swearing. Uhura looks incredibly dazed, which is a little weird. 

Jaylah, bizarrely unfazed by the massive explosion, sits on Scotty’s lap and purrs.

Chekov pops up from beneath a pile of their stuff. “Eweryone! Look! I lost my last tooth!”

They all burst out laughing.

* * *

 

The recent rainfall prevented a wildfire from the bomb, but the fact remained that “a huge-ass monster just appeared outta nowhere and tried to eat us,” to quote Sulu.

“What the fuck is it?” Uhura asks, prodding it with her foot.

Spock raises an eyebrow. “The lab that released the virus was not far from here. Perhaps this is an escaped experiment.”

“What kinda fucked-up experiment could do this?” Jim asks.

Spock looks at him with those gorgeous eyes (who knew that a pair of eyes could make his head feel light and bubbly like this?) and replies. “I do not know. Certainly one with dubious ethics.” 

“Dubious ethics are, like, my jam,” Kirk replies, if only because the face Bones makes and the wry twist of Spock’s eyebrows both are worth it in completely different ways.

The van is only useful now a shelter, but the fact that the animal smells like hot garbagey death is an extreme deterrent. They can’t flip the van, can’t move the animal, and they can’t stay.

“It is logical to presume that there will be more creatures of this type nearby,” Spock muses, hot-chocolate eyes flicking over the corpse.

“What do we do then?” Bones asks, holding his nose.

Jim starts picking the supplies out of the van. “We walk. Sulu, where’s the nearest rest stop or whatever?”

Sulu examines the map. “I think it’s about ten miles west.” He squints at the unenthusiastic sun, checks his watch, and points. “That way.” Through the prairie.

Christine holds up a coil of rope. “Should we tie ourselves together so we don’t get lost?” Kirk nods. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He half-turns away, but then turns back. “Where did you get that?”

She points to the van. “It was in the glove box.” “...o-kay.”

The trek is one of the most uninteresting things Jim has ever done. One foot in front of the other, staring at Sulu’s back as he navigates then through the prairie grass. The tremors on the rope and the raspy breathing of his crewmates is the only thing that tells him they’re even alive.

They stop once, crouching in the tall grass and passing around a water bottle, ears pricked for the sound of another animal. Jaylah takes the opportunity to groom Scotty, having stayed perched on his shoulders throughout the walk.

The only thing they hear is their own breathing.

They continue.

Chekov stumbles, falls. He’s exhausted, not yet possessing the strength and stamina of his post-pubescent companions. Wordlessly, Scotty unties him and hoists him on to his own back. Insulted, his cat moves onto Kirk’s shoulders and digs her claws in.

They are so grateful for the rest stop.

Spock smashes a window when they find out the door is locked, and they collapse in the remnants of a KFC and sleep on the booths. The last thing Jim thinks before his eyelids close is, “holy shit this is gonna be so much harder than I thought it would.”


	4. So run and hide cause we’re all gonna die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find that there can be a few diamonds in the mud. Kirk has to make a tough decision, but at least he’s smooth around his crush, right?? Right??
> 
> (Wrong.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/20 on 4/20 ayyy
> 
> I think this is a pretty shit chapter, but hey, what can you do?

Kirk wakes up with a crick in his neck. Maybe uncomfortable awakenings are part and parcel of the apocalypse.

 

The sun is shining, three seagulls are fighting over something in the parking lot, and Spock is sitting on the counter, staring at his phone in something akin to frustration. He looks up when he senses Jim staring at him. “My phone is out of battery, and the electricity is not working. I was hoping perhaps that there was something in my mother’s messages that I had missed...” He trails off and puts his phone down. 

 

Jim swallows the niggling suspicion that he’s becoming desperate, which is always a bad sign, but for a Vulcan? The lean green logic machines?

 

Yikes.

 

Instead, he says the first thing that pops into his brain: “So, do Vulcans actually need sleep or do you guys just...I dunno, read or something at night?”

 

Wow, Kirk. Smooth.

 

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Vulcans do sleep. However, we do not require as much sleep as humans, and can forego it for long periods by meditating.”

 

“Neat. I mean, that’s pretty cool.”

 

Oh yeah - he’s gonna be falling into Jim’s arms in no time. 

 

Once again, yikes.

 

He rubs his face, suddenly bone-tired by all this. “This is the most fucked-up situation ever,” he groans. Spock is silent. 

 

Jaylah, for her part, was hungry. The appropriate course of action was obvious - sit on Scotty’s head and scream until he woke up and fed her.

 

Scotty groans. “A’ right, a’ right, I’m gettin’ up. Hauld yer wheesht, cat.”

 

Jim stares at him. “Hold her what?”

 

Scotty begins to dig around the supplies for the packets of jerky he’s been feeding his cat. “Uh, Scottish slang fer ‘be quiet, you absolute loon’.”

 

He tears off strips of jerky and pours some water in a tin that once held mints. As Jaylah satisfies her hunger, he suddenly looks up. “Is that a car?” He asks.

 

As soon as he points it out, Kirk hears it; the gentle roar of an engine in the distance.

 

He and Spock exchange a glance, and it might just be his infatuated imagination but he gets the sense they had the same thought; it could be a fellow survivor, and they have no idea if they’ll turn out to be friend or foe. In such times, with massive monster things roaming about, they can’t be too careful.

 

Quietly, they wake the others. Jim takes charge. 

 

“Bones, you, Christine, Scotty, and Chekov go hide in the kitchens. Uhura, how much ammo do you have left?”

 

She checks. “Enough. If you’re planning on starting a firefight, though, then I’m afraid we’re shit outta luck.”

 

“It’ll do. You and Sulu stand behind the booths. Cover us. Spock, you’re with me.”

 

The Vulcan crosses the floor and stands at Jim’s side. “It is logical to assume that they will stop here, seeing as this is the only rest area for fifty miles.”

 

They wait, breath bated, for the car.

 

It’s an ancient pickup truck, driven by a haggard-looking man. He jumps out of the car almost before it stops, running to the doors with an expression that can only be described as relieved. He skids almost comically to a stop when he sees Kirk and Spock standing there, and Kirk can see the whites of his eyes when he spots Uhura and her gun. He puts his hands up. “Look, fellows, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I’ve been driving for ages and I just want some food!” He whines. 

 

“Who are you?” Kirk replies. 

 

“My name’s Mudd! Harry Mudd.” The smile he gives them is both condescending and obsequious. “Now, you kids wouldn’t happen to have any food with you, would you?”

 

“That depends.” The reply, surprisingly, comes from Spock. “Tell us what you know of current events, and we shall gladly offer you any supplies you require.” 

 

Normally, Kirk would be horrified by the idea of bargaining for information with precious food, but these are hard times, and this guy is clearly a creep. The gleam in Mudd’s eyes is enough to tell him that this guy is a rat.

 

“Of course!” He says. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Now, if the young lady wouldn’t mind putting the gun down...”

 

Uhura looks at Kirk, waits for his nod before she points the muzzle of the gun at the floor. 

 

In the KFC, Mudd is steered to a booth and sat down by Sulu. Kirk sits down across from him. “So, what can you tell us?”

 

“Um. Well. I-I don’t know, I’ve not eaten in so long, I think I feel a little faint...”

 

Kirk doesn’t buy it for a minute. “Talk. Then we’ll give you food.”

 

Mudd rolls his eyes. “The youth of today. So serious! Well, here’s what I know...”

* * *

Three weeks earlier...

 

A prisoner watches her guards evacuate. They are abandoning her. She doesn’t care.

 

She’s heard the rumours - a bribe goes a long way here. High security labs broken into, viruses and mutant animals on the loose, and earth deemed inhabitable. Sure, technically she’s meant to be evacuated, but the government is eager to dispose of their more threatening prisoners, and what better excuse are they gonna have?

 

When everyone’s left, it’s the work of half an hour for everyone to get out. She quickly establishes herself as the nastiest piece of work in town, and sets her mind to survival. 

 

They are safe from the virus. Why? They don’t know. As the infected lie dying, the prison gang pillages the towns, recruits survivors, and grows.

 

The leader looks on her new kingdom and smiles. She hasn’t just survived.

 

She’s thrived.

 

* * *

 

As Mudd finishes his tale and his food, the kids are silent. The older man looks up. “So,” He says sarcastically, “May I leave, or do I beg permission from your kind selves?”

 

“Piss off, I don’t care,” Kirk says, not looking at him. He’s too busy thinking. 

 

As they watch the creepy guy drive off, he puts his head on Bones’ shoulder. “Can I talk to you a little bit?”

 

Bones puts an arm around his shoulders. “What’s on your mind?”

 

“A lot.”

 

“Like what, kid?”

 

What do they do next? Try and get to NASA? Try and join the prison gangs? Just lay down here in the KFC and die?

 

He looks at the others. Scotty is listening to a chattering Chekov with an expression of dazed amusement. Uhura seems to be flirting with a very oblivious Christine. Sulu has commandeered the soda machine, and Spock is...watching him. 

 

He doesn’t want to fail these people. In the space of, like, two days, it’s almost as if they’re his new family. He knows the what the safest option is. He doesn’t like it, but he’s got to look out for these people.

 

“I’m thinking we should join up with the prison gang.”

 

“Are you out of your corn-fed mind, Jim?” Bones hisses, shocked. “You really think that’s the best option? To throw our lot in with criminals?”

 

Kirk shakes his head. “I think that it’s the safest place to be right now. Look, maybe they’re dangerous, but right now they’re our best bet. You know that, Bones.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” the older boy growls, but Kirk knows from the look in his eyes that he’s not going to fight him on this. Not much, anyway.

 

He sighs. “Alright. Let’s go and see if there’s a truck around here. How far did that guy say it was to the camp?”

 

Spock looks up. “Thirty miles, as the crow flies.”

 

Kirk jumps up, million-watt grin flashing. “Won’t take us long at all! Up and at ‘em, everyone!” He calls. “Time to go meet the infamous Michael Burnham.”


	5. We’re the disciples and the prophets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparitions, illness, and family, oh my.

Bones is cooking eggs over a fire when they discover the newest act in this shit show.

It’s been a good while since they found out about Michael Burnham - maybe a month? Time is weird nowadays. Since then, they’ve been travelling via souped-up camper van, foraging for food, and trying to find the prison gang. Trouble is, this is a massive country, and the prison gang moves around. After a week or so of driving around and getting nowhere, they decided to put that plan on the back burner.  
So far, then, they’ve been on their lonesome.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Bones jerks his head round at the expletive. It sounds as if various members of the crew have been teaching Chekov words he shouldn’t know. “What’s going on over there?” He hollers.

Chekov pops into his field of vision from behind a bush. “Is...I do not know how to explain!” His eyes are huge and frightened. “I think it might be an angel. Or a ghost.” 

Bones takes a good look at the kid. In the whole they’ve known each other, Chekov has never seemed like the kind of person who would purposely lie about something like this. And he seems terrified. Bones sighs.

“Shit.”

The others have gone on a foraging expedition, except Scotty, who fell asleep after complaining about a headache. If it’s anything really dangerous, they’re pretty much fucked. They definitely aren’t the fighters.

“Lemme take a look at this,” he grumbles, standing up and walking over to join Chekov in the lookout bush.

The thing is huge - twenty feet tall, at least. Pale and shimmering, it looks vaguely human, with long, flowing hair and robes. It has its back to them, looking into the distance. Beside it is a pale horse. 

Suddenly, Bones is terrified. 

If that thing turns around, then...

What? 

He doesn’t want to find out.

He has no idea how long the two of them stay there, staring at the figure. It seems like forever until it finally mounts the horse and gallops, thankfully, away. It’s gone in seconds.

The pair finally breathe. “What the fuck,” Bones whispers.

“Was it...real?” Chekov asks, tones equally hushed.

“I dunno.”

The eggs are just on the other side of over cooked when they return the campfire.

They’re chewing on their lunch when Bones’ ears, finely tuned to distress thanks to a certain James Kirk, hear a soft whimper. 

“Shit, I completely forgot about Scotty!”

He darts into the van, followed by Chekov. 

Scotty is lying on his sleeping bag, eyes flickering from side to side beneath his eyelids. He’s flushed, and his forehead is hot to the touch. He’s feverish, and obviously having a nightmare. 

Bones crouches beside him and gently touches his shoulder. “Scotty? Wake up, darlin’. You’re having a nightmare.”

The other boy jerks up, eyes wide and glassy. “Is it still here?” He hisses.

“Is what still here?” Chekov asks.

Scotty stands, legs trembling. “N-nothing. Bad dream. How long was I out?”

Bones stands as well, frowning at the other’s glassy stare and flushed cheeks. “Couple hours. Listen, Scotty, how are you feelin’?”

He doesn’t reply for a moment, looking through the open door. Then; “like absolute shite.”

He stumbles out the door in time to throw up bile. 

Immediately, the other two usher him back to the sleeping bag. He’s really trembling now, teeth chattering so hard Chekov thinks they’re about to break. “Please sit down, Scotty. You are obwiously sick!”

Scotty pats him absently. “Aye, I don’t feel so good.”

Once he’s settled, Jaylah scurries from wherever she was before and sits down by his head, daring the other two to come closer. 

Bones is worried. It could be nothing but a stomach bug. It could be something bad. 

It’s something bad.

The next day, Scotty throws up again, specks of blood mixed in with the vomit. Anxious, Bones and Christine do their best to help him get some fluid in him. A particularly abundant foraging expedition uncovers a cooler filled with ice, which is reserved for the sick boy to suck on. He’s feverish most of the time, but still lucid. 

“We have to get to Houston, Jim,” Bones hisses on the third day. “If he gets much sicker, I don’t have the resources to help him! We need to contact the Federation, let them know we’re alive!”

“It would be more logical to seek help from the gangs,” Spock counters. “We know for certain they will have resources and that we may contact them. We do not know wether or not we can contact the Federation.”

“And if the prison gangs decide to murder us for fun?” Bones demands. 

“We will not be murdered.” Spock says, cool as you please.

“How d’you know that, Spock?” Sulu asks. The others, who were eavesdropping with varying degrees of subtlety, are now openly curious.

Spock simply raises an eyebrow. “Michael Burnham is my adoptive sister.”

The only sound for a solid ten seconds is Jaylah’s grooming. 

“What the fuck,” Jim finally says. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I saw no reason to,” Spock replies.

Bones goes nearly purple. “No reason to-“ the rest is lost in his incoherent rage. 

“Well that settles it, I guess. We’re joining your sister.” Jim sighs.

The rest retire in baffled quietude. Vulcans, man.

The next day is far more promising - Uhura finds evidence of a campfire not too far away. The prison gang is close.

“And not a damn moment too soon,” Bones grumbles. Scotty hasn’t woken up yet, trapped in an apparently terrifying fever dream. Tears sometimes slip out from beneath his flickering lids.

“Okay, Spock, you and I go out to find them. The rest of you,” Jim says, “stay here. If we’re not back by tomorrow lunchtime, you clear out. Got it?”

Sulu nods grimly. “Yes sir.”

“Okay.” He turns and smiles at Spock. “Ready to go meet your sister?”

The Vulcan simply gestures for him to lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll probably be a bit slower updating for a while, as I have my exams to do and also this took a completely different turn than I originally planned and I wanna get everything sorted out in terms of plot. I’m aiming for two weeks from today (27/04/18) so the next chapter should be up in May. I hope.


	6. Coming back from the edge of town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, big sister feat. gigantic fuck-off gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S ALIVE!!! *suitably dramatic thunder and lightning, Igor shrieking, etc., etc. *
> 
> But seriously, sorry I’ve been gone so long. Revision and exams are hell. I’m gonna get back on the wagon around mid-June (after my GCSEs) but for now, enjoy this weird little thing.

* * *

They find the gang way sooner than Kirk thought they would. 

 

Walking through the countryside isn’t so bad, considering that he’s next to his disconcertingly attractive...friend? First officer? Crush? Anyway, it would be way better if he knew what to say other than “hey, I’m not sure if I wanna take you to dinner or let you raw my ass, but either one’s fine” or maybe “why did you not tell anyone about how the most powerful person in the country is your big sister before we got to the whole life-and-death bit?!” He opts for saying nothing at all, an option that Spock seems to be just fine with.

 

It’s still kinda relieving when they encounter the first member of the gang. The not-so-relieving bit is that she’s holding a gigantic fuck-off gun. 

 

Kirk blinks. “Hi.”

 

She scowls at them, her prominent forehead ridges adding to the overall impression of, well, a very angry lady holding a gigantic fuck-off gun. “State your business.”

 

Jim is just about to turn on his trademark grin when Spock steps forward. “I am here to see Michael Burnham.”

 

She looks at him in confusion. “Michael? What do you want with her?”

 

Spock tilts his head. “She is my sister.”

 

The woman gives him a good, hard look. Jim is wondering if he’ll have enough time to say his prayers before they get shot when she shrugs. “If you’re lying, I’ll kill you myself,” she says, face neutral. “Come with me.”

 

She marches them into a dusty little town at gunpoint. A pixie-like woman runs out from an abandoned convenience store, smiling at the scary lady. “B’Elanna! You brought people!”

 

B’Elanna nods at the other woman. “Heya, Kes. Brought some people for Burnham to look at. Guy says he’s her brother or some shit like that.”

 

Kes blinks in surprise. “I didn’t know Burnham had a brother.”

 

“Yeah, well,” B’Elanna motions for Kirk and Spock to keep moving, “neither did I.”

 

Kes isn’t the only person to take interest in the two prisoners; they are stared at from windows and store fronts and street corners. There are far more people than Kirk had imagined. 

 

“I’m guessing other survivors met up with your sister as well,” he murmurs to Spock.

 

Spock nods, but a warning growl from B’Elanna prompts him to keep his mouth closed.

 

They reach the town square sooner than Kirk expected. In the centre, a woman lounges on a modern art installation. At least, Kirk thinks it’s modern art. It could also be a bunch of granite slabs someone dumped there.

 

The woman radiates cool, feline power. The dagger she holds in her hand flashes in the sunlight as she turns it this way and that, admiring the gem in the pommel. At the sound of their footsteps, she looks up. 

 

Here’s where we find out if family ties mean anything in this hellscape, Jim thinks as she stands and paces over.

 

She examines them closely, her eyes giving nothing away. She’s still holding the dagger. Circling them, she stands in front of Spock, and for a moment, no-one even dares to breath.

 

She lifts up her hand, and makes the ta’al. “Spock. Live long and prosper.”

 

He returns the gesture. “Michael. Peace and long life.”

 

She smiles and sheathes the knife. “Long time no see, little brother. Hungry?”

 

Jim jumps in before Spock can do something polite and Logical, like refuse. “Um, yes. Starving, actually.”

 

She turns her gaze onto him. “And you are?”

 

“Kirk. Jim Kirk.”

 

“Well, Jim Kirk,” she says, turning, “We have plenty of food to eat. Come along.”

 


	7. She’s a saint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food and ice and girlfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain has melted from exams. Thankfully, updating should be more regular from now on, but in the meantime enjoy this pile of shit I called a chapter.

Food is both weird and plentiful in the camp. It’s served up by a guy who introduces himself as Neelix, before plying them with what seems to be a cross between a curry and Korean barbecue. Jim wolfs it down without complaint, and even returns for seconds. Spock sticks to the copious amounts of beans available, because what’s a post-apocalyptic situation without beans?

Michael watches them eat, only moving when a girl with a bunch of curly ginger hair bounces up to ask if she should send out some people to find Kirk and Spock’s friends. She nods.

“Bring them here and get them fed.”

The girl nods, then pauses. “Your hair looks super cute today, by the way.”

Michael smiles - softly, as if the lighthearted comment made her feel fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Tilly.”

Tilly drops a kiss on the other’s forehead before dashing off. Michael turns back to her brother and Kirk. “My girlfriend. We met in prison. She helped me orchestrate my ride to power.”

Spock nods, as if Michael had told them she’d met her girlfriend on Tinder or something like that. Kirk just gives her a thumbs up and stuffs his face with what might be curry-flavoured beef, which absolutely should not be a thing, but whatever.

In the other encampment, Bones gently holds an icecube to Scotty’s mouth. “Can you drink this for me, darlin’?” He murmurs. The other boy makes a half hearted attempt to swallow some of the moisture, but then just lies there, allowing the cold water to trickle down his mouth. Chekov sits near him, holding Jaylah close to his chest. “Is he dying, Mr. Bones?” He whispers. 

“I don’t know, kid. I don’t know.”

Just then, Uhura shouts from where she’s keeping watch. “People are coming!”

Sulu stands up from where he was polishing his sword, joined by Christine with a length of wood. “Is it Kirk?” He shouts.

Uhura squints. “No! I think it’s the prison gang!”

A weak cheer rings round the camp.

Tilly halts her companions several paces from the encampment. “Are you Spock’s friends?” She shouts.

Uhura nods, holding her breath. Please, she thinks, please let them have found Michael. 

“Come with us - we have food and shelter, and help for your friend.” Tilly adds, smiling widely.

Uhura can’t help it; she laughs aloud. “Yes! Praise be.”


	8. Tell me it’ll be alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best of times and the worst of times are the same times a lot of the time.

Beverly rests her head on her knees.

The kid’s dying - there’s no sugarcoating this fact. The fever is so high she’s amazed his brain hasn’t cooked in his skull yet. If there’s a God, She thinks, He’ll let him die now and end his suffering. The Hippocratic Oath frowns at her from the back of her brain - do no harm - but to let him live is, in her opinion, harmful.

Scotty’s dying. He won’t die.

She stands up, dusts herself down, and goes to look for Michael.

Burnham, Tilly, Ogawa, and Torres are standing over a map on the table in what used to be the police station. Beverly knows the key for the various objects scattered on the map; blue beads for lab-monsters, chess pawns for the other groups in the country that they know of, and shards of glass for the angelic apparitions a few swear to have seen. Beverly clears her throat.

Burnham turns. Her face looks harsh and tired, but a smile still graces her lips. “Beverly. Any news?”

The doctor sighs. “He’s not dead yet. That isn’t necessarily a good thing, though,” she hastens to add. “He’s dying - and if he doesn’t get the medication he needs, all he has to look forward to is a slow, painful death.” She can’t sugarcoat it. 

Michael leans against the table and crosses her arms, looking at the floor. After a long moment, she speaks. “Who’s closest to him?”

Beverly shrugs. “I’m not sure - I know he and Chapel were friends. Same with McCoy, and the little one - Chekov.”

Michael keeps her eyes trained on the floor. “I want you to explain the situation to them. I don’t want the kid to suffer, and I know you’ve got the means to make his passing as easy as possible if it comes to that.” She covers her face. “I don’t want to force this on them. But if it’s come to that...”

Beverly nods. “I’ll let them know.”

________

Before this conversation, Chapel finds herself on the roof of an abandoned apartment with none other than Nyota Uhura herself. The other girl smiles at her, and Christine feels weak at the knees. Why is she so gorgeous?! 

“Enjoying the view?” Nyota asks.

“Yes,” Christine blurts before she can think, and barely manages to kick herself when she realises Nyota’s talking about the view from the rooftop.

“I gotta say, it sure beats prairie and looking over my shoulder,” Nyota continues. “It’s nice to have a proper roof and food - no to mention showers!”

Do not think of Nyota in the shower, Christine orders herself. “Uh, yeah, totally. I do like the showers...and food.”

They sit in silence for a little bit, while Christine gives herself a mental pep-talk. 

(Okay, Christine. It’s literally the end of the world. You have literally stumbled into like, the shittiest zombie-apocalypse romance novel out there. You can ask this girl out. It’s now or never, you useless lesbian.)

“So, uh-“ both girls speak at the same time.

Christine blushes. “You first.”

Nyota shrugs. “Was just about to say...if we weren’t, you know, in a weird post-apocalyptic situation, I’d totally ask you to prom. Or maybe dinner. As, you know, a date.”

Christine is literally physically incapable of speaking for a minute.

Misinterpreting the other girl’s silence, Nyota moves to stand up. “I’m sorry, that was inappro-“

“No! Wait, fuck. No, it - it was totally cool. I...” She takes a deep breath. “I wouldn’t mind if we went on a date. Now, I mean. Or, you know...whenever.”

Nyota’s smile could dull the stars with its brightness. “Okay. Would you want to get food?”

Christine nods, her heart thumping in her ears. “Okay.”

“Christine?”

They turn to see Beverly, face grey with weariness. “Can I talk with you for a minute?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a rollercoaster! Comments make my day, pathetically, so *gestures vaguely*

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what y’all thought - was it good, bad, or something in between?


End file.
